Touched By an Angel
by rederani
Summary: When the Doctor and Martha tricked the four Weeping Angels to look at each other, they didn't realize that they missed one. Now Sherlock has a case about mysterious disappearances near an old abandoned house. How can a consulting detective, an army doctor, and a timelord stop a creature that can't die?
1. Chapter 1

**Touched By an Angel**

By: rederani

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who or any of these characters.

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Chapter 1

The woman was in hysterics. Tear filled eyes gazed at them hopefully and John only hoped that Sherlock wouldn't be as much of a jerk this time. The day was drawing to a close and just as they, meaning just John and not Sherlock, were about to turn in for the night, a woman started pounding on the door, begging to meet with the resident consulting detective.

"Please Mr. Holmes, you have to help me. I'd rather have you than the police investigating this. If you don't agree then I don't know what to do!" By this point, the woman had tears pouring down her face. She grabbed onto John and frantically started rambling on about strange old houses and angels. To be honest, John couldn't really make out what she was saying between the sobs and tissue pressed to her mouth.

He walked her into the flat, putting his arm around the woman hoping to comfort her. Guiding her to the chair, he glanced expectantly at Sherlock who had yet to look up from his makeshift chemistry set in the kitchen. _Not another kettle_, John thought, dreading to find out what his flat mate used it for this time. Last time he left the pot out, he returned to find it being used as a container for hydrochloric acid.

"Sherlock, are you coming? You have another client." John called over to Sherlock. When his flat mate didn't answer, he sat the woman down on the sofa and quickly hurried into the kitchen. Getting one of his spare pots out of the cabinet and leaving the water to boil for tea, he turned to the woman and said, "Just wait a moment. We'll be right there." And facing Sherlock, he added in a hushed whisper, "and you are going to see to this woman. I don't care if it is just a simple hit and run case."

"John, I have already decided-"

"No Sherlock," John interrupted, relishing the peeved look on his flat mate's face, "that poor woman in there is in tears and came to you specifically. I won't allow you to turn her away without at least looking into this case." When it looked like the consulting detective was going to open his mouth, John cut in again and added, "All day you have been complaining about how bored you are. The last thing Mrs. Hudson needs is another face on her wall."

"If you would have let me finished before you rudely cut me off, John, then you would know that I have already decided to take on the case."

"But you haven't even talked to her! How can you know what she wants?"

"Seriously John, use your eyes and pay attention. All over the news, haven't you heard about the missing persons reports?"

"Well, yes but that's missing persons. Normally you look into murders and psychopathic criminal masterminds."

Suddenly, Sherlock stood up and walked over to the woman who was still sitting on the couch. "Mrs. …"

"Hamlin, Julianne Hamlin", she provided.

"Yes Mrs. Hamlin, you're here about a missing person case, aren't you?" he asked. "More specifically, you're here because someone close to you, most likely your husband judging by your emotional state and the ring on your finger, has mysteriously disappeared. Disappeared from an old abandoned house located in Newport."

She looked up at him and silently nodded and asked, "How did you know?"

He looked at her annoyed and began pacing, "I don't know, I noticed. Really, it is quite obvious. Considering the state of your hair and clothes, I can tell that you have not had time to change before meeting us here. The moss and bits of vegetation on your shoes suggest that you were off the streets of London, but not in the forest. There are no mud tracks on the floor for that. Therefore you must have been visiting a more suburban or rural part of the country and came directly here after. And then there's the reason you've visited us. Lately in the papers, there have been reports of people disappearing from the Newport area. No one knows about how they disappear or who takes them, but every once in a while, these missing people leave behind items as evidence of their existence. So many cars over the past few months have been left outside a single building on Park Road Avenue. Police have even found some with motors still running. A most peculiar case. Conclusion; you and your spouse were looking around the building when he disappeared. By listening to your ramblings from when you walked through the door, it is obvious to see that you have information the others don't. I have been waiting for a case like this for quite some time now, so pray tell, what happened to you and your husband, Mrs. Hamlin?" Sherlock abruptly stopped his pacing and looked expectantly to Mrs. Hamlin.

"Brilliant" John breathed and after getting a look from Sherlock, he added, "Sorry, right, case at hand."

"Well," Mrs. Hamlin started in a shaky voice, "you were right about me and my husband visiting the house. We live around the corner from the house and wanted to explore and see what was inside." She stopped when she saw Sherlock settle down into his chair and close his eyes.

"Don't worry, he's still listening. Continue." John said to her.

"Okay, me and my husband-"

"My husband and I," Sherlock corrected without even turning in her direction.

"Umm, right, well my husband and I were in the house taking pictures on my mobile. We found a nice looking statue outside in the garden. We photographed it and then went back inside. There was strange writing on the wall, which was covered up with paint. We wanted to get a closer look and..." She broke off here, and began to start and sob again. "Here, I have the pictures on my mobile, just please look. I don't know how it is possible or what happened. All I know is that my Alex was taken from me." Mrs. Hamlin handed her purple floral mobile to John and he began to look at the photos. Sherlock was now leaning over his shoulder, looking on with him.

The first photo was of Mrs. Hamlin. Her long blond hair and dainty frame made her easily recognizable. Next to her was a tall young man with short brown hair and glasses perched precariously low on his nose. They were standing in front of an old and worn house, which he could only guess was on Park Road Avenue. There were a few pictures of plain rooms and of either Mr. or Mrs. Hamlin posing in front of various objects. The next two were taken outside of the house in the garden and showed Mr. Hamlin standing next to an enormous statue of an angel. It was beautiful workmanship, so life-like; one could have said it was real. The strangest thing about it was that there wasn't any sign of decay or crumbling and there wasn't even any moss on it like the other statues in the garden. Swiping on the mobile's pad, John came across a video and pressed play.

The couple was back in the house again, looking at red marks on the wall. Mrs. Hamlin was holding the device and zooming in on one of the walls. She began talking, "Look at this Alex. I wonder what it said before someone painted it up. All that's left is the word NO."

"Weird. Wonder who lived here before, don't you Jules? One thing's for certain, they didn't have very good cleaners." Mr. Hamlin said, kicking a piece of rubble. Moving over to the window, he looked out through a crack in the pane into the garden. "There's something weird about this place, and it's not because it looks like somewhere amateur ghost hunters flock to. Feels like someone's watching you. Anyway, what'dya say we wrap this up." The camera swung back to the writing on the wall.

"I supposed we can find out at home. There must be some entry online about this place, don't you think?" Mrs. Hamlin asked, looking back to her spouse. When he gave a nod in agreement, she turned and started walking for the door. "Let's hope none of this topples down on our way out," she said jokingly. She moved the camera again to look back at Mr. Hamlin, but no one was there. "Alex?" she called. "Where are you?" After walking back in the direction of the room and still not finding him, she called out again with a little worry coloring her tone, "Alex? If this is one of your jokes, I'm not laughi-"

"Oh my God," she whispered for standing in the middle of the room was the statue of the angel.

John looked up confused from the video as it ended. "Go back to 1:53," Sherlock commanded. Dragging the video back to the allotted time, he watched again as the camera moved from Mr. Hamlin to the wall, and then back to the man. Recognizing the look in his flat mate's eyes, John asked, "What? What is it?"

"The angel, John, look at the angel." Pausing the image and looking at the frozen frame, John saw what Sherlock was talking about. The angel had moved from its original spot in the garden to only a few meters away from the window. The move was subtle but now that Sherlock had pointed it out, it was easy to see. "Then again at the end of the video it moves into the room. I wonder who moved it. Could have been the kidnappers, but why? What could they have gained from moving a statue? I was right Mrs. Hamlin, you do have information the others didn't. But why didn't you show this to the police?"

"One of my coworkers in the office employed you a few months ago. You probably don't remember her, Sandra Williams. She said that when the police gave up on her son's murder case, you were the one to solve it. They haven't been doing anything about the disappearances as of late and I figured that you would be more of a help."

"Ah finally, someone who recognizes the police's incompetency. Come along John, and you too Mrs. Hamlin. We have a house visit to make."

"But its eleven o'clock!" John exclaimed.

"Doesn't matter, the game, Dr. Watson, is on!"


	2. Chapter 2

Touched By an Angel

By: rederani

**A/N:** I just realized that I never put an author's note on the last chapter. Silly me. I wanted to thank all the people who viewed this and took time from their day to review and favorite my story. I honestly wasn't expecting much from it, but you guys made me continue writing. Anyway, I plan on updating every week on Tuesday. I figure that would give me enough time to write the next chapter. I also want to apologize for any OOC-ness (mostly from Sherlock) in the next few chapters. It is really hard writing him when he confronts a supernatural situation like the weeping angels. Once again thanks, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Sherlock or Doctor Who characters.

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Chapter 2

The Doctor knew why Martha left. She had felt things for him that he could never reciprocate. He would never be able to move on after Rose. That didn't mean, however, that it hurt any less. He loved having his companions with him, but when they left, on their own terms or not, it broke his hearts.

He couldn't help himself. Companions were the people who he could share this wonderful universe with. They kept him company, and most importantly, they stopped him from going too far over the edge. He set himself up for the moment when they left time after time. After all, they had lives outside of the TARDIS that didn't include him. Families, friends, and no constant threat of dying. It seemed a bit boring for him, not having the rush of adrenaline one gets when facing the threat of death. All too … domestic. No, it was much better wandering the universe, helping and meeting new people.

The TARDIS was too quiet without anyone to talk to. Even the engines were humming silently instead of the usual screeching noise it made when he "accidentally" left the brakes on. It seemed that the ship recognized the loss of yet another companion and was paying her respects in silence. The TARDIS was designed to be piloted by six timelords and felt entirely too big now for just one. He always did try to tell his past companions that it wasn't his driving, which is perfectly fine, thank you very much, that always landed them in the wrong destination, but rather the lack of pilots.

Trying to put these thoughts out of his mind, he began pacing slowly around the monitor. "Where to now?" he asked his beloved machine. "Anywhere in time and space to pick from. Not all it's stacked up to be when there's no one to share it with." He murmured to himself. Flipping a few switches on the monitor and pulling the lever, he decided to go back to one of his favorite spots in the universe, London. Populated with humans, the fascinating creatures they are, and teeming with life. The TARDIS sprung to life and began to make its usual noises again.

Stepping outside into the cool night air, the Doctor took a deep breath. Racing up to the nearest person, no doubt baffled from seeing a big blue box appear out of thin air, he said, "Hi, I seem to have forgotten today's date, you mind telling me?" When the man didn't answer, the Doctor instead pointed to the newspaper he held under his arm, "Could I perhaps borrow that?" Still in shock, the man handed over the paper to the timelord. It read 7 August 2010, but what really got his attention was a photo on the front page. Looking at the picture, dread began to fill the Doctor. It was a picture of an old crumbling house. The very same one he left a message in for Sally Sparrow back in 1969. The front door looked like it was broken into a few times and just in the corner, next to the greenhouse; he could make out a stone wing. The featured story only managed to solidify the oncoming feeling of trepidation.

**The Mystery on Park Road Avenue**

**By: Brooke Roy**

**Come one, come all, and see the mysterious house on Park Avenue, or don't, unless you want to end up like the others. By others, I mean the numerous amounts of people that disappeared from Park Avenue. Missing person's cases unsolved for years in that area all lead back to that same house. People walk in and never come back out. Drew, my husband, and I were walking through the neighborhood one day when we met with some of the local residents. The people that live around the house, I believe, have nothing to fear as long as they do not wander onto their neighbor's property. In all of the two years that these disappearances have been happening, never have the neighbors heard any strange noises or been taken themselves. When I asked a couple, Shannon and David Tennrant, who live near the house about the strange occurrences and if they heard any noises they replied, "It's always quiet. I thought the house was abandoned a long time ago." Shannon and her husband David have lived in the neighborhood for five years and never had a complaint about the crumbling house next door. "It is a real shame that they cannot renovate it and move a family in," Shannon added when asked her opinion on the house. "I heard that the structure of the house was weak and renovations would be too costly."**

**Over the past years, the police have begun a collection of objects found outside the house. The West Drumlins collection currently holds thirteen cars, five of which were found with motors still running. The only item to have been reclaimed was also one of the stranger objects found outside the house; a blue 1960's police box. No one knows who claimed it or how it was moved, but one day it's there and the next it's gone. Who is behind these abductions? What do they want? The answers to these questions will most likely stay unknown since the police do not have any leads. Conspiracy theorists will just have to settle on blaming the abductions on aliens again for there is no logical explanation as of now. I do not encourage any of my readers to go to this house. The purpose of this article is not to inspire paranormal novices, but rather to warn the common folk of the dangers of this house. Stay away if you value your life. Don't become just another name on a list of missing persons.**

**For more, see page 5.**

Drawing his eyes back to "a blue 1960's police box", the Doctor had his feelings confirmed. He must have missed one of the angels. There had not been four, but five, or six, or Rassilon knows how many more. Handing the paper back to the man with a quick thanks, he raced back to his TARDIS.

Throwing the levers and pressing buttons, he began to calibrate the ship for Newport, careful to land far away from the house, don't want a repeat of last time. Grabbing his coat, psychic paper, and sonic screwdriver, he walked through the TARDIS doors. It was still night out. At least he didn't land a few days in the future. He had to investigate now and couldn't afford wasting time by accidently skipping a few days.

After walking the few blocks it takes to get to the house, the Doctor climbed over the fence and began trekking up the front drive. The last time he was at the house, in 1969, it was intact and definitely not as destroyed. The outside of it wasn't too bad, but when he walked in he could see all the rubble and dirt that was left inside. The boards to keep people out had been knocked out of the way, and there were bits and pieces of the wall and glass shards. He could even still see his message, covered up with red paint, on the wall.

Suddenly, the Doctor whipped his head around. Voices were coming from the front of the house. Ears straining, he could just barely make out, "Sherlock, I really don't think that Mrs. Hamlin should be here with us. What if the kidnappers are still here?"

A deep baritone voice, which the Doctor guessed was Sherlock, replied, "Good point, John. Mrs. Hamlin, it would be best if you took the cab and headed home. Come see us in the morning and we will have some results." Sherlock and John. Those names sounded so familiar. _Where have I heard those names before?_ the timelord asked himself.

"Won't take too long," the first voice, or John, added. Then the Doctor heard the shuffling of feet, most presumably Mrs. Hamlin leaving to the road to the cab. "Where do we start?"

"I'd first like to look for that angel. Last it was seen, it was in the room with a fireplace and the writing. Right through that door and to the left, I believe, judging by the video and pictures on her mobile." At hearing Sherlock's statement, the Doctor's eyes widened. The angel, they were going to try to find the angel!

He ran out the door and almost bumped into a tall dark haired man. Next to him was a shorter blond who was looking at a mobile in a purple case with flowers. "Nice case," the Doctor said to the man.

"Oh, no, no it's not mine. It's a friend's," he said looking a little red in the face. "Wait who are you? You know that this is off limits to the public, right."

"I could say the same." The Doctor quickly flashed his psychic paper and said, "Detective Inspector John Smith."

"Oh sorry for the intrusion Detec-," John started with an apologetic look, only to be cut off by Sherlock.

" John, I know you're not a genius and I do tolerate your occasional dim-witted remarks, but please. This is too much. How can he be a detective?"

"The badge, he just flashed it," John stated in a confused and annoyed voice.

"You mean the blank sheet of paper in his hand?" Sherlock intoned sardonically. Upon hearing this, the Doctor began to smile widely.

"You're a proper genius aren't you!" he exclaimed. "Not going to be fooled by a bit of psychic paper!"

"Obviously," Sherlock said and sticking out his hand, he introduced himself, "Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes. And I'm guessing you're Doctor John Watson. I knew I recognized your names. The famous Reichenbach Hero. I can't believe it, so pleased to meet you. I'm the Doctor," the timelord said, enthusiastically shaking the consulting detective's hand.

"Doctor who?" John asked.

"Nope, just the Doctor."

"Well, a doctor of what? And what do you mean, famous?" John insisted.

"Hmm, I guess that hasn't occurred yet," the Doctor said to himself and then to answer John's second question, he said, "Everything I guess, never really focused in one area."

Sherlock looked like he was about to say something when a shout interrupted them.

"Oi, you lot, you can't be in there! This is private property!" A beam of light temporarily blinded the three men. Once the light moved out of their faces and onto the ground, the Doctor could make out a cop standing in the front door way with a torch. "You can't be in here, haven't you heard about all the missing people? Thank God someone called in about some men breaking in to the house. Could have been you all next."

Sherlock confidently strode forward. Showing a small white card to the officer, he said, "I am here on official police business, investigating the recent abduction of Mr. Alex Hamlin."

The cop just looked at the piece of paper in the consulting detective's hand. "It says here Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Seeing as DI Lestrade is one my superiors, I think I would recognize him and you, sir, are most definitely not DI Lestrade."

Sensing the beginnings of a problem, the Doctor stepped forward and showed to the cop the psychic paper. "Sorry about the confusion, DI Smith at your service. These two are with me." The Doctor gave the man an apologetic look and one of his winning smiles.

"Oh, right of course, sir. My apologies. Just keep the noise down. Some of the residents are a little jumpy from the disappearances. Good night gentlemen." And with that, the cop walked back down the drive, leaving a smiling Doctor and two very confused men.

"Has the whole world gone mad?!" Sherlock exclaimed. "That is a blank piece of paper in your hand. How is it that everyone manages to see an ID of some sort?" he asked while running his hands through his hair.

"Psychic paper," the Doctor replied. "The perception filter around it shows people whatever I want them to see. Well- not geniuses, but I've only met a few of those."

"If you're not a detective, then what are you doing here?" John asked.

"I'm here to try and tie up any lose ends I have made. I hear that you have been looking for an angel, a weeping angel, is that right?" said the Doctor, both he and John failing to notice Sherlock slip out of the room.

"Yes," John started, "but it's just a small part of our case-"

"John!" came Sherlock's shout from around the corner. "I found the statue but it has been moved back to its original spot in the garden."

"Stay away from it!" the Doctor yelled, running around the room to find Sherlock looking at the statue of a weeping angel. "Stop what you're doing and look at it. Don't take your eyes off it."

"What's the problem?" John said, looking at the Doctor who was staring intently at the angel. "It's a statue."

"It's not just a statue, it's a creature. You were wondering about how and why the kidnappers moved the statue. It was because there were no kidnappers. The angel moved itself and got Mr. Hamlin and the others. When you look at it, it becomes quantum locked. It becomes frozen as a statue. It cannot move or harm you, but it also means that they cannot be killed."

"That's nonsense. A creature that turns into stone," Sherlock scoffed, "Never in my life have I heard anything as ridiculous as this."

"You don't believe me," the Doctor stated, "Fine. Both of you stand back and close your eyes for a moment, just a moment and no longer. You'll see it move. Just make sure it doesn't touch you." Turning to Sherlock, he said, "If you think your right, then you'll have no qualms about humoring me." At Sherlock and John's skeptical nods, the Doctor said, "On the count of three, close your eyes."

"One"

"Two"

"Three."


	3. Chapter 3

Touched By an Angel

By: rederani

**A/N:** Thank you to all the people who reviewed/favorite/followed. It really feels nice to know that people are actually reading what I write. And I know it's not Tuesday yet, but my family and I are going on vacation for the next week and we leave tomorrow. I really don't feel like uploading this chapter at four in the morning, so I am posting it a bit earlier. I also want to give a heads up that the next chapter will be posted next Wednesday or Thursday (it depends on what day I get back). Anyway, I also want to apologize for the OOC-ness of Sherlock once again. He is a very hard character to write and I wasn't sure how I should write him in this chapter. I tried my best. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Sherlock or Doctor Who characters.

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Chapter 3

Sherlock couldn't believe he has humoring this madman. Honestly, angels that came to life, it was preposterous. When he voiced his thought, the man called the Doctor said, "You don't believe me. Fine. Both of you stand back and close your eyes for a moment, just a moment and no longer. You'll see it move. Just make sure it doesn't touch you." The Doctor turned and faced him, as if sensing Sherlock's doubt. "If you think your right, then you'll have no qualms about humoring me."

Seeing as there would be no other way to satisfy the man, Sherlock looked at John and gave a nod. "On the count of three, close your eyes," the Doctor said.

"One"

"Two"

"Three."

Sherlock shut his eyes quickly. He snapped them back open and looked back at the angel. He wasn't sure what he expected to happen. Part of him, the irrational part, wanted the Doctor to be right. He wasn't sure why, but he guessed it was because it would be the ultimate cure for his never ending boredom. Standing in front of them was the angel, but it hadn't moved a centimeter.

"Oh you clever thing," the Doctor yelled at the statue. "Not going to show yourself, huh. Don't want to show your hand. Would you change your mind if I showed you this!" the Doctor exclaimed. He held up his hand. Clenched in his fist was a small golden key, which Sherlock noticed held the number 666 on it. "Unlocks a world of time energy, are you sure you want to keep up this charade?"

"Well, this has been an eventful outing. Thank you for wasting our time. Obviously I am not the only sociopath here," Sherlock commented. He called over his shoulder, "Come along John, time to go. We'll come back another day." Without looking back to his blogger, Sherlock strode out to the front walk. He heard John's footsteps behind him, as well as the Doctor's. The Doctor strode ahead to catch up with him, occasionally glancing over his shoulder back to the garden.

"You can't come back here. It's not safe. The angel will get you, there is no way to stop it."

Sherlock stopped and faced the man. "Unlike you, I am not afraid of a statue. Now if you would let us be, we will be on our way. It is clear by the eccentric clothes on you and the fact that you carry around a blank paper which is supposedly an ID all suggests that you have taken a few too many hits to the head." Sherlock was about to continue his deductions when he realized the Doctor wasn't looking at him anymore, but rather a space over his shoulder.

"Dr. Watson, I don't want to alarm you, but the angel is right behind you. Turn around and walk towards us." The Doctor said in a dangerously low voice.

"Oh, come off it," John began, turning around. He suddenly jumped when he came face to face with an angel, if you could even still call it that. The mouth of the statue was gaping wide open and razor sharp teeth were bared. The hands of the angel had now become claws and were stretched out, trying to grab the blogger. "Ahhh! How did that get there?" John shouted reaching and pulling out his gun. Sherlock mimicked his actions and he too drew his weapon.

"Where did you get a gun from?" John asked, temporarily distracted when he saw Sherlock draw a firearm as well.

"Lestrade, where else," Sherlock replied, "I got it when I pinched his ID card. Someone must be moving the statue."

"No, no, no, guns won't work against statues," the Doctor began berating the consulting detective. "For a genius, at times you can be really thick. Now don't take your eyes off it and walk backwards with me."

"Are you-" Sherlock began only to be cut off by John.

"Sherlock, just listen to him for once. Look at the pattern on the wing. There's the same patch of spots. It's the same as the one in the garden." John was slowly walking back to the pair of men as he said this. Deciding to listen to his blogger just this once, Sherlock began to stare intently at the gruesome angel. "Fine," he said.

Next to him, he heard the Doctor say, "Do you think you two can handle looking at this angel by yourselves?" At John and Sherlock's nod, he said, "Good, because I need to do a quick scan around the house to look for others. I won't be a moment." Out of the corner of Sherlock's eye, he could see the Doctor whip out of his pockets a strange stick-like object with a blue glowing thing on the end. He pressed the button on it a few times while murmuring to himself. "Calibration's off, give me a moment." The Doctor keep pressing the button and it began emitting a series of high-pitched whining. It climbed a scale until the Doctor yelled in excitement, "Ah ha! Found it. Be right back. Don't blink!" And with that, Sherlock heard the sounds of the stick thing and Doctor running away. It didn't take a genius like him to deduce that this man was off his rocker. But, if this had to do with the case, he might as well play along.

Sherlock took his torch out, clicked it on, and pointed it at the statue. Angling his head to John, he said, "John, I want you to begin to move backwards towards the front drive with me. If you must, don't take your eyes off the statue." They began to move backwards, making slow but steady progress. Just as they were about to step onto the drive, the torch began to flicker.

John noticed the flickering beam and looked down at the torch in his partner's hand. "Sherlock, didn't I just put batteries in that torch?"

"Yes, but something is making it short out," answered Sherlock hitting the torch to try to get the light back. "John, are you looking at the angel?"

"No, I thought you were." They both looked up to find the angel right in front of them just a few meters away from them. Sherlock froze. In the distance, he could hear John's intake of breath, but nothing was processing. There was not enough time for someone to move a statue of that size and weight. They would never get it a few centimeters in the amount of time both of them looked at the torch. Speaking of the torch, the light seemed to have gone out for a few seconds. In the darkness, he couldn't make out the angel, but he was sure it was advancing. The light flickered back on and he numbly heard John call out, "Oh God! Look at its hand. It's turning the lights off." The angel had moved closer again, but this time it stood with a serene expression on its face. One hand was outstretched to the torch, as if willing it to turn off. There was no denying it this time. The angel had moved on its own.

Sherlock stared unblinkingly at the angel, not in fear, but rather in shock. John, as if sensing his companion's distress, called out to the Doctor. "Doctor! We could really use some help here! I think Sherlock's gone into shock!"

Over the roar of his mind trying to find a logical solution, Sherlock heard the Doctor running towards them. "Unfortunately, this is the only one," Sherlock heard him say to John.

"Unfortunately!" John exclaimed. "What do you mean unfortunately!"

"I'll explain it later. I think both of you have more questions for me." The Doctor began leading them back up the front drive again. "I promise I will answer them all later, but right now we need to get out of here. Perhaps bating it with the key wasn't a good idea."

Sherlock snapped out of it. He pushed the impossibilities he had just encountered into the very back of his mind palace. He would face those problems later; he had to deal with an angel now. "Right. If two of us look at the angel and one uses his free eyes to guide us down the path, then we can get out of here. Odds are that the two of us can't blink at the same time."

"Oh good, he's back," John commented.

"Don't be daft John. I was never really gone, just … sorting through things."

"Just keep looking at it," the Doctor warned. "I can lead you to the street. I see some more lights and people ahead. Hopefully that will dissuade it from following you into the city."

"And why would that be?" John asked.

It wasn't the Doctor that answered, but Sherlock. "Because more people mean more possibilities of it getting frozen."

"Yes," the Doctor agreed with him, "in other words, the street means we're home free. Cities aren't a place for angels."

Halfway, down the drive, the three men began to relax a little. Certain the angel would not follow, the men exited the house and began walking down the street.

"Can't say I've done that before," John said wearily as the adrenaline faded away. Sherlock just looked at the former army doctor, his mind still in turmoil.

"Perhaps a cab ride with the Doctor will help answer some questions," Sherlock said.

"As much as I'd love to accompany you," the Doctor started, "I do have a, umm, car of my own that I left a few blocks away. I'll meet you back at your flat." Before either John or Sherlock could get a word in, the Doctor took off down the street, his coat billowing behind him.

"But you don't know our address!" John shouted just as the Doctor rounded the corner.

"I have a feeling he will find his way," Sherlock commented.

"You know you two are so similar. He even has the same ridiculous coat as you."

"What was that?" Sherlock said sharply.

"Nothing, nothing," mumbled John and Sherlock began to run ahead. Sherlock watched as John tried, and failed, to get a cab. Deciding to take pity on his blogger and saving them the need to walk a back into the city, Sherlock raised his hand, causing a cab to come to a stop in front of him.

"One day you're going to teach me how you do that," John huffed, running towards Sherlock.

"Whatever do you mean?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"How you can raise your hand a cabs appear out of thin air."

Hiding his smile, Sherlock climbed into the cab and told the driver the address. The pair of men fell silent as the cabbie began pulling into the street. Looking out the window, Sherlock watched as people rushed from store to store with bags in their hands. The city of London was still bustling even though it was well into the early hours of the morning. Members of the homeless were on the street begging and charities were collecting donations on street corners. As they neared Baker Street, the streets gradually became less populated. There were only a few people on the pavement. Just as they were about to pull up in front of Speedy's Café, Sherlock spotted a blue police box in one of the alleys next to the building. It seemed to be from the 1960's and out of place in modern day London. He thought back to the article he read that morning by Mrs. Brooke Roy. It could be a coincidence that a 1960's blue police box had appeared next to his flat. But then again, he was Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes never really believed in coincidences.


	4. Chapter 4

Touched By an Angel

By: rederani

**A/N:** Hey guys, I once again want to apologize for my tardiness in updating. I also am just realizing that my story is going to be shorter than others on this site. It is either I keep the story short or I drag it out. I would rather have a shorter and a more believable story than keep on trying to stretch it out with ridiculous plot twists. Oh well, I hope you enjoy this chapter, anyway.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Sherlock or Doctor Who characters.

* * *

Chapter 4

Entering the building, John watched as Sherlock bounded up the stairs and raced to his chair. He once again sat on the back of the chair and his hands were brought together in front of his face. If it were any other person, John would have thought they were praying, but this was Sherlock Holmes. He was most likely in his 'mind palace' sorting through what had just occurred or something like that.

John was having a hard time believing it himself. He could only imagine the turmoil going through Sherlock's mind. His flat mate believed in cold hard facts, not in the supernatural, or in magic, and most certainly not in living stone creatures. It should be impossible, which made him all the more impatient for Doctor to arrive.

"Are you sure he'll be able to find the flat? Or even if he is going to come at all?" John asked Sherlock.

"Of course," Sherlock responded. "He was intent on keeping us away from that house, so he will be back to make sure we don't return. And didn't you hear, he knows the names John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. He said we were famous so obviously he must know our address."

As soon as Sherlock finished his statement, they heard a knock on the door, and Mrs. Hudson shouted up, "Sherlock, dear, you have another one of your clients." Then John heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs as the Doctor, he assumed, approached. Knocking on the door and then entering the flat, both John and Sherlock saw the Doctor with eyes shining, standing before them.

"So this is the famous 221b Baker Street flat," he said in awe. "Always wanted to visit, but never got the chance. But it's just as described in the books!" The Doctor ran over to the mantelpiece and started looking at the skull. "Oh and the skull is even here too. This is brilliant." He took out his stick thingy and pointed it at the skull. "And one hundred percent real too!"

John interrupted the eccentric man, "I'm sorry, books?" he inquired.

"Yes, books written a hundred years in the future. I believe it was verbatim from your blog." The Doctor said nonchalantly.

"How can you possible know that?" John asked.

"I'm a time traveler. Isn't it obvious?"

"No," John said while at the same time Sherlock replied, "Yes".

"How does time travel work?" Sherlock asked. "How do you manage to travel without setting off paradoxes? Just now, telling us that we were going to be written about, well what if John then decided to stop writing. The whole future would change."

"Well," the Doctor began, "it's really hard to describe. I have been around for a long, long time and I still don't know all the specifics."

"I'm clever," Sherlock stated, looking at the Doctor. "Explain."

"I don't know if I can. It's like, umm, like planes. You know that they can fly, but you don't know how."

"Then it's a good thing that I know how planes fly," Sherlock retorted.

"No, no, let me put it a different way. Well then, it's similar to how the planets orbit the sun. They go round the star, but your race can't figure out the specifics. You know about the gravitational pull-"

"That was actually another bad example," John interrupted. "He actually doesn't know that the Earth goes around the sun." John looked over at his flat mate was amused to see an irritated expression on his face.

"He doesn't know…" the Doctor trailed off with a stunned look. "Blimey, you know how a plane works and you can solve a crime in three minutes flat, but you don't know that the Earth orbits around the Sun. I thought they made that part up in the books." Turning to Sherlock, he added, "You need to get your priorities straight."

Sherlock looked up at the Doctor, "You said, 'your race'. Judging by that, I can safely assume that you are not human."

"Timelord," the Doctor responded. When he saw that neither of them comprehended what he said, he elaborated, "I am a timelord. I may look human but believe me, I'm not."

"I can see it now," Sherlock said. "Your pulse; it has four beats. I'm guessing two hearts," he said raising an eyebrow. The Doctor only nodded in return.

"Right, okay," John said slightly over whelmed. "What were those, those things at the house? You said something about 'quartem locked'?"

"Weeping Angels," the Doctor responded, "the most deadly creatures in the universe. They are quantum locked. Basically it means that while you observe them, they become stone. It's the perfect defense system"

"But it's also a weakness," Sherlock stated. John looked at him. He once again failed to see how Sherlock came to that conclusion. Waiting for Sherlock to continue, John looked at the Doctor and saw his eyes light up. "They must be able to freeze themselves; otherwise they wouldn't be covering their eyes. And earlier on, you said that it was a bad thing that there was only one of them. It makes sense now. If there were an even number of angels, then we could just trick them into looking at each other and theoretically freeze them forever."

"Yes, it works," the Doctor confirmed. "Martha and I once managed to trick four of them into looking at each other. I think they are still in the basement."

"Who's Martha?" John asked.

"She was one of my companions." The man, err no, timelord responded forlornly. He got a depressed ancient look in his eye. "Every once in a while I offer someone to come with me. They accompany me and I show them all of time and space. After all, every genius needs a companion," the Doctor said, shooting a knowing look at Sherlock.

"What about mirrors?" John suddenly asked. "Would they work? It could look into its reflection and see itself. Then it would be petrified, right?"

"It's a good idea, but the only drawback is that whatever holds the image of an angel becomes an angel itself. A mirror, a photo, a video, a drawing, all of it would allow the angel to reproduce."

"So if Mrs. Hamlin took a picture and video of the statue, then it would come to life?" John asked uncertainly, drawing the mobile from his jacket pocket.

"Why, do you still have the pictures on the mobile?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, grabbing the phone from John. "And if you're right, then…" he trailed off. Holding the phone up for the Doctor and John to see, Sherlock said, "That proves it."

John saw a close up of the angel on the screen. Its mouth was baring its terrible fangs and the claws were stretched forward as if ready to leap off the screen to touch one of them. "Mrs. Hamlin most certainly didn't have a picture of that," John said hesitantly, trying not to blink.

"And that is why you must delete everything that has the image of an angel," the Doctor emphasized also staring intently at the image.

John walked to the phone and hovered his finger over the rubbish bin icon. "Are you sure this will get rid of it," he asked.

"Eighty seven percent positive," the Doctor replied.

"Here goes nothing." John pressed the button, but nothing happened. "I thought you said it would work," he said eyeing the image of the angel whose face was still frozen.

"Oh, I probably should have tried it with this," the Doctor simply said. Whipping out that same metal stick he used at the house, he pointed it at the image. Both John and Sherlock winced at the high-pitched sound it made. Lowering the tool and trying again, the Doctor successfully managed to delete the pictures and video.

"There we go," he said. "A little resistance from the angel."

"What is that device?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh this, this is a sonic screwdriver. Using sound waves, it can perform many functions. For instance, I just overrode the angel's controls over the mobile, allowing me to delete the images. Real handy."

"I wonder what such high frequencies could do to a human body. I will have to ask Molly for another cadaver-" Sherlock began, only to be interrupted again by John.

"Can we get back to the topic at hand, please? Mrs. Hamlin is going to stop by later on and I'd hate to not have anything for her. Getting back to the mirror."

"Right-o, the mirror," the Doctor said. "I suppose it could work, but it would be difficult. In order to freeze the angel, it must be staring directly into the eyes of its reflection. That means that we need to somehow smuggle a full sized standing mirror over the fence and into the house, make the angel open its eyes, place the mirror directly in front of the creature, prevent it from breaking, all the while not getting touched. Simple enough."

"Simple!" John exclaimed. He looked around the room and saw that he was the only one averse to the plan. The Doctor was grinning in his genius and he knew all too well the slight smile that Sherlock had on.

"What can I say?" the Doctor stated. "Allons-y!"

"Convenu!" Sherlock replied.


	5. Chapter 5

Touched By an Angel

By: rederani

**A/N:** Once again I am sorry for the late update and any OOC-ness of the characters. This story keeps getting harder and harder to write. I will try to keep each update about a week apart, but I cannot promise anything. Thank you for those who are still reading and following this story.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Sherlock or Doctor Who characters.

* * *

Chapter 5

The Doctor could easily tell the Sherlock and John would get along fine with him. Like many of his past companions, they too had the habit of running towards danger instead of away from it. But he was still cautious of both of them, but mostly of Sherlock. "No time to waste!" he shouted over his shoulder to the genius and army doctor who were following him as he speed down the stairs two at a time.

"Well, if we are going to do this, let me at least leave a message for Mrs. Hamlin," John said, moving over to Mrs. Hudson's door. The Doctor heard him softly asking Mrs. Hudson to pass on the news of their departure to their client. The head of the woman popped out of the door frame to look at the three men.

"I'll have a nice brew waiting for you, but just this once," she said. "Remember I'm your land lady, not your house keeper."

With that taken care of, the Doctor lead the two men outside. He glanced back and said to the two, "I have the exact kind of mirror we need in my TARDIS."

"Your what?" John asked.

"My TARDIS. Stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

"So then I can assume that along with time travel, it can also teleport locations?" Sherlock inquired.

"Correctamundo," the Doctor answered and then after added to himself, "Nope, still don't like the sound of that." The Doctor led them around the corner into a nearby alley. "There she is," he announced proudly. In the middle of the alley stood the familiar blue police box.

"Odd, no signs of deterioration. It looks as if it is an original 1960's police box, but yet it's in perfect condition," Sherlock commented. "But I must ask, why a police box?"

"What's wrong with a police box? Police boxes are cool."

"And big and blue and out of this time," Sherlock added on. "How did you manage to blend in?"

"That doesn't matter. Most people pass by it. To them it's just another oddity in the streets."

John looked at the TARDIS skeptically. "And that is a time traveling, teleporting machine?"

"Yup," the Doctor said. He held up a plain silver key in front of his face and turned to the two men standing beside him. "A whole world of time energy," he commented.

"Wait," John said, "you said that before, to the angel. Were you actually going to give the key to this thing to the angel?"

The Doctor opened his mouth only to be cut off by Sherlock, "Of course he wasn't tempting it with the real key. You can see but you fail to observe, John. The key currently held in the Doctor's hand is different from the one he baited the angel with. This is a small silver key. Looks like it belongs to a house." He paused for breath and the Doctor just began to realize how much this man loved to hear his own voice. The detective continued, "The other key he had at the house was larger and golden. It also had a number on it. 666 I believe. Looked like it belonged to a locker one could rent at Waterloo Station." Turning to the Doctor he asked, "Am I right, you were tricking the angel. That wasn't the real key."

The Doctor looked amused. "Your right," he confirmed. Reaching into his pocket, he brought out the other golden key. "This key does indeed belong to a locker at Waterloo. Locker 666: home of the Parvacreo race. Nice group of people, really small though…" the Doctor trailed off. "Anyway, moving on. TARDIS here we come." He spun around and unlocked the door. Striding into the TARDIS, he waited for the common 'it's bigger on the inside' comment, and wasn't disappointed when he heard John say, "Bigger on the inside. I should have expected it."

"Well obviously, you can't expect him to live in an actual police box," Sherlock pointed out.

_Oh well, I got one of them to say it_, the Doctor thought, _close enough_. Before either of the two men behind him reached the main monitor, he turned around and stopped them. "First of all," the Doctor said to I can feel that you two are going to have to be an exception. Rule number one, on no circumstances are you two allowed to touch the monitor." Pointing to Sherlock, he added, "Especially you, no touching. I don't want to end up somewhere like Raxacoricofallapatorius."

"Raxa what?" John exclaimed.

"Number two," the Doctor continued, "watch what you touch. Some of the things in here are … delicate. Just make sure you don't release some mysterious evil force or break anything important. Number four, no, three don't wander off too far. I really don't need a lost earthling on my ship."

"Exactly how big is this ship?" John asked.

"Well you know, there's the basic control room, a few bedrooms complete with bathrooms, the pool's in the library, an amazing art gallery…"

"Wait, did you say the pool's in the library?" John interrupted.

"Yup, actually now that I am thinking of it, it's probably not the most ideal place for a pool," the Doctor mused. "No time to reorganize though," he said. "We have to find that mirror. I believe it is somewhere in one of the old bedrooms. If I remember correctly, Martha made me help her carry one into her room." The Doctor began leading Sherlock and John through the second pair of doors and a series of confusing hallways. Stopping at one of the doors, he exclaimed, "Here it is!" He opened the door and immediately saw the mirror standing in the back corner. Moving to face the two men, he asked, "Do you remember how to get back to the monitor room?"

John just stared at him and Sherlock responded, "Yes, why?"

"Because I need you two to wheel the mirror to the control room. I will start the TARDIS up."

"We are traveling in this thing?" John questioned.

"Yeah, I would imagine it would be very hard to transport the mirror by cab, so I'm just going to do a little jump." The Doctor began racing back up the halls when he paused, turned around, and said, "Oh and watch out for some turbulence." After saying this, the Doctor continued on his journey to the control room. Once he reached his destination, he began flipping switches and pressing buttons. To anyone else, it would seem as if he was just randomly hitting things, but some people like Sherlock would be able to see some sense in it. That was part of the reason why he left the two men on his own. Sherlock in the TARDIS was bad enough. He couldn't imagine the damage he could do if he had free reign. The Doctor was pretty sure that Sherlock would be able to memorize what he pressed and would have no qualms about trying to fly the TARDIS himself.

Before tossing the final switch, the Doctor decided to wait for his two companions to bring the mirror into the control room. He watched the doorway as he heard the two men coming up the corridors. The wheels on the mirror squeaked as they rolled it up the ramp and towards where the Doctor was standing. "All ready?" The Doctor asked brightly. Poised over the monitor, he then added, "I suggest you hold on to something."

Throwing the switch, the Doctor caused the TARDIS to rock and shudder. Screeching noises filled the room as the center monitor piece went up and down. Sherlock and John dove for a railing and held on for dear life.

"What's happening?!" John shouted.

"Don't worry, just some turbulence," the Doctor answered. "Happens all the time." Suddenly, the TARDIS quieted down and stilled. Cautiously John and Sherlock got up and walked to the Doctor warily, as if expecting the floor to give way suddenly.

"Was that it?" Sherlock questioned.

"You tell me," the Doctor responded. "Take a look outside."

The Doctor watched in amusement as the consulting detective and blogger ran and threw open the doors. Outside the sky was still as dark as before, but the surroundings had changed. It was no longer Baker Street outside, but rather Park Avenue. Noticing the two men were occupied studying the outside surroundings, the Doctor took the chance to inspect the mirror that they had found. It was a large full body mirror and etched in the steel frame were little circles with designs. Before Martha had requested his help moving it, it had stayed in one of the older rooms in the TARDIS collecting dust. The mirror was one of the few surviving pieces of timelord craftsmanship and it was indeed beautiful. Covering the mirror with his coat, he wheeled it out of the TARDIS and found John looking at his partner who was circling the police box. If the amused look on the army doctor's face was anything to go by, the Doctor could tell that Sherlock had been doing this for quite some time now.

"I'm just waiting to see what he deduces this time," John explained.

"Amazing," Sherlock began, "still no sign of aging, no indents, scorch marks, it's as good as new. It looks like it has just been placed here. The only sign that it wasn't here before is that the grass beneath it is still green."

"Yes," the Doctor interrupted, "well if you lot are done inspecting the TARDIS, we have an angel to catch," he said, gesturing to the covered mirror.


	6. Chapter 6

Touched By an Angel

By: rederani

**A/N:** I am so sorry for not posting earlier. I've been so occupied with camps and tryouts that I forgot that I had a chapter to upload. I thank those who follow and review this story and I also thank you all for putting up with my forgetfulness. Thanks again!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Sherlock or Doctor Who characters.

* * *

Chapter 6

The Doctor, Sherlock, and John all stood around the TARDIS. Sherlock was still admiring the ingenuity of the time traveling machine when he heard John ask, "Why is your coat on the mirror?"

"Have to keep it safe somehow," the Doctor simply said as he began wheeling the mirror down the pavement. "Wouldn't want the angel to be able to break it." After a pause, he ended the conversation by adding, "And also because the mirror won't work unless it's directly facing the angel,"

The trio of men continued in silence. The only noises in the night came from the chirping of the crickets and the squeaking of the mirror's wheels. Unlike the calm and tranquil surroundings, Sherlock's mind was moving at break neck speed. The odds of them making it out intact were slim. There were too many uncontrollable factors to accurately predict the outcome of this escapade. Looking over at John, who was fidgeting with his hands, Sherlock could see that he wasn't the only one thinking along those lines. But as he turned his head in the other direction, he saw that the Doctor looked almost relaxed, as if this was an everyday occurrence. Although the alien did say that he already encountered these weeping angels before, so he must have some type of experience.

Sherlock's musing ceased as he approached the front gate of the old decrepit house. The lock was brand new, and even with his best lock picking set, it would take a long time to open. The police officer must have put it on after they left the first time. John voiced the same thought aloud, "This looks like the new kind of locks that the police are using. I doubt we'll be able to pick it quickly or break it open." He paused and glanced at the mirror, then the gate. Reaching his arm up to scratch the back of his head, he skeptically said, "I suppose we'll have to somehow carry the mirror over the fence."

"One of us should keep a look out for the angel, while the other two-" Sherlock began planning, only to be cut off by the Doctor.

"What you both are forgetting is that I have a sonic screwdriver, as in, works on locks too."

"Well, if you want to be boring, then by all means," Sherlock said, gesturing to the lock.  
The Doctor stepped forward and pointed the screwdriver at the gate. Once again, John and Sherlock's ears were assaulted by the high pitched noise of the device as the Doctor coaxed open the lock. After a second or two, the soft click of the padlock opening could be heard. A quick shout of happiness was heard as the Doctor pushed the gate open. The shrill noise of the hinges sounded like a scream echoing in the night. The three of them ushered the mirror in, warily watching for a flash of stone wings or a beautiful face drawn tight with sorrow.

When they reached the middle of the front lawn, the Doctor turned to Sherlock and John. "We must purposefully bait and draw the angel out," he began.

"What!" John shouted, looking at the Doctor as if he lost his mind.

"Well if the angel doesn't move its hands from its face, then we won't be able to place the mirror directly in front of the statue. It needs to be able to clearly see its reflection, otherwise this plan won't work," the timelord explained.

"Might I suggest that we do this inside the house," Sherlock stated. "If it is out of sight from the street, then perhaps most people will forget about it and not investigate."

"Good idea," the Doctor said. "We don't want anyone accidentally moving or breaking the mirror." Turning to Sherlock, he added, "Why don't you look out for the angel while John and I will get the mirror inside." After Sherlock and John nodded, they began moving the mirror to the main room. Sherlock went ahead of the group, blue eyes scanning the surroundings for the creature. He moved to the room with the pain on the wall where Mr. Hamlin first disappeared, looking out the window, trying to see if the angel was in its normal spot in the courtyard, but no luck. He gazed over the crumbling walls and the strange red blotches covering what he assumed was writing, when just out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. The angel was halfway through the doorway when it froze under his gaze, its hands covering its eyes.

"Doctor," Sherlock shouted, not taking his eyes off the statue in front of him. "I think I found it."

"Just keep looking at it," the Doctor yelled from a nearby room. "We'll be there in a moment." Just as the Doctor finished his sentence, Sherlock could see in his peripheral vision, him and John slowly pushing the mirror into the room, carefully avoiding the angel in the doorway.

"How do we get it to open its eyes?" John asked, his eyes glued to the statue.

"That's the tricky part," the Doctor began. "I'm sorry, but we will need to blink. We need to give the angel the chance to move its arms."

"What's to say that it won't come after us?" John said.

"That's a risk we'll have to take," the Doctor answered. "On three then?" And at everyone's nod in agreement, he counted, "One, two, three."

Sherlock shut his eyes for felt like an eternity, only to snap them open after he heard John's intake of breath. The sight that greeted his eyes was unpleasant to say the least. The angel had moved forward, towards the mirror. The arms were outstretched to it, as if trying to grab the coat that covered the reflective surface. Sherlock watched the Doctor as he ran forward and quickly maneuvered the object in front of the angel. But just as the timelord turned around and began to remove the coat, Sherlock heard a loud crack and a shatter of glass as the shards of the mirror rained down onto the floor. They stared dumbly at the rock the angel had thrown at the mirror. _All three of them must have been looking at the Doctor as he removed his coat_, Sherlock thought to himself. Both John and Sherlock quickly looked back up to the Doctor when they heard his shout. He was sitting on the floor, shuffling away from the angel who had moved forward to where the Doctor was just standing. "No, no, no," the Doctor began muttering.

"I think a tactical retreat is in order," Sherlock said, slowly moving back around the angel and to the door.

"No shit, Sherlock!" John all but shouted at the detective, both him and the Doctor following Sherlock. They turned around and began moving faster, stumbling through the rubble, and hurrying to get out the room. Every few seconds or so, Sherlock would look back to see where the angel was. To his dismay, it kept getting closer every time. Fifteen feet away, ten, five, until it was right behind them. Just as they were about to burst through the front door, Sherlock felt the whirl of wind rushing through his hair, a high pitched whine, and the gritty touch of stone on the back of his neck. Then, his world went black.

Clop, clop, clop.

The sound of what seemed like horses hooves on cobblestone and the chatter of people was the first thing that Sherlock noticed. The second thing that the consulting detective became aware of was that he was lying on his back on the cold hard stone. Taking a deep breath of the fetid air, Sherlock winced and opened his eyes. His chest felt like someone had been sitting on it. The bright blue of the sky assaulted his eyes, forcing them shut until he could slowly pry his eyelids open again. Faces were floating above him, expressions varying from disgust to concern.

What struck him as odd was not the strange noises or smells, but rather the attire of the people surrounding him. To his right a woman was wearing what appeared to be a long fashionable dress. The bottom of her long skirt had a collection of frills and ruffles, which Sherlock realized was iconic to 1800's London. The man standing next to her only confirmed his beliefs when he recognized that the man was wearing a tailcoat, breeches, and held a walking stick with a curled handle in his right hand. In the other, he was holding out a fob watch. Looking down his nose at Sherlock, he tisked and said, "It's not even five in the afternoon lad, shouldn't you be holding off on the liquor?" Sherlock almost snorted when his ever racing mind began seeing connections between the man and his brother. Always the one for tradition, the elder Holmes never left home without his fob watch and umbrella, which held an uncanny resemblance to the man's walking stick. Mycroft Holmes, a paragon of the British Empire.

Clutching his head, Sherlock assured the gathering crowd that he was indeed fine and that there was no need for the police to be involved. Slowly standing up, he took his first look at 1800's London. Shops lined the cobblestone road where horse drawn carriages carried passengers around the city. If he was truly sent back in time, then he needed to find out the date and figure out a way to get message back to John and the Doctor. Sherlock scanned the quickly dissipating crowd and found what he was looking for. Just on the side of the street was an old man who was reading a newspaper. Sherlock ran up to the man and grabbed it out of his hands. Ignoring the man's shouts of indignation, Sherlock's eyes widened. On the top of the front page was the date, 31 September 1888.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed with an open mouth in shock. Seconds later, that gaping mouth twitched up and began to form a sly smirk. His fast mind already drawing connections and formulating a plan of action.

"Oh," Sherlock repeated with glee.


	7. Chapter 7

Touched By an Angel

By: rederani

**A/N:** Hey guys, good news, I have finally finished this chapter! I want to warn you right off the bat that I do not have a firm understanding of fixed points and how time works in Doctor Who (the show can really make my head hurt sometimes). I also want to propose a question that has been bugging me from the start. I know that most people don't review the stories they read (I admit, I do it too), but it would help a lot if you gave feedback on this matter. For the past chapters, I have tried to write from a third person limited point of view (usually the order of John, the Doctor, and then Sherlock). Because this is my first story, I would just like to know if I am doing a good job at it or if I should switch to a regular third person pov. Sometimes I feel like when I write, the characters know more than they should. If you could comment and give advice on this matter, then I would be grateful. Thanks, and without further ado, Chapter 7!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Sherlock or Doctor Who characters.

* * *

Chapter 7

John Watson was on autopilot. All he could think of was that he _had_ to get out of that room now, and away from the angel. John was a caring man, but as he ran away from the creature behind him, the primal instinct to survive made him temporarily forget about his other two companions. He used all the energy he had to pump his legs harder and faster, beginning to overtake Sherlock and the Doctor. After all, how do you outrun something that can move meters in milliseconds?

Now that he thought of it, John was certain that the angel was toying with the three of them. If it was really trying to get them, then they'd be dead already. Although the Doctor never specified what would happen if the angel touched one of them, John could assume that it would not lead to a pleasant ending, death being the most likely outcome.

Not risking looking behind to see where the angel or the other two men were, John burst through the front door. It was as he was sprinting to the gate that he began to think that something went wrong. There was only one pair of feet pounding on the ground behind him instead of two. He skidded to a stop at the once locked gate and looked behind him to find the angel gone and the Doctor wearing an almost pained look. What scared and confused him most was the fact that a certain consulting detective was missing.

"Where is… Sherlock? Did he… fall behind?" John panted, doubling over, trying, and failing to catch his breath. Somewhere in the flurry, Sherlock must have fallen behind or taken a different path.

"Something is wrong," the Doctor said with glazed eyes, completely ignoring John's question,

"Where. Is. Sherlock?" John repeated more forcefully, trying to get the Doctor's attention.

"Gone," the timelord responded absent mindedly. "Well, gone for now, until we get him, but something is wrong, very wrong. I don't know what, but something is not right."

"Wait, what do you mean 'gone'?" John asked, worry and frustration beginning to leak into his voice.

"He got touched by the angel," the Doctor said, "which means that he got sent back in time. We can't do anything to help him until we get back to the TARDIS."

"He got sent back in time." John repeated. "Is that what you mean by 'something is wrong'?"

"No, you see there are these events that I call fixed points. They are important moments in history, like the holocaust or the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, that cannot under any circumstances be changed. They must happen, no matter the consequences, no matter the death toll. They impact the future and I can feel one of them has been altered."

"And what happens if a fixed event is changed?" John inquired hesitantly.

"All of space and time unravels," the Doctor responded bluntly. His eyes seemed to lighten up a bit as he said, "But we must have time to fix it because we are still here! We need take care of this quickly."

"Knowing Sherlock, he's probably at the center of this mess," John said.

"I think you might be right," the Doctor agreed as they began walking back to the TARDIS. "Imagine what would happen if someone with the knowledge of today's modern day technology traveled back to seventeenth century London."

Just thinking of the possibilities made John feel a bit queasy. He prayed to God that his best friend didn't wind up on the stake for accurately deducing other's just by glancing at their hand or something like that. But he supposed that the fate of the consulting detective would depend on when and where he was sent to. The more modern centuries were more accepting than the older ones. John just hoped that Sherlock was still in England for that matter.

As the two men entered the TARDIS, the Doctor turned to John and said, "You know Sherlock best. What would he do that could damage history so much?" Not waiting for his answer, the Doctor strode over to the central monitor and began using the computer.

"Knowing Sherlock, he probably invented something ahead of time or solved some case." _He better not have invented the plane or cars ahead of their time_, John thought to himself. But Sherlock was never really one to steal other's credit. If he was to become famous, he would not do it by inventing something as 'boring' as a simple cab. No, he would so it by doing something that no other person had accomplished before. "Actually, I'm almost positive that he solved a case or something along those lines," he said as he walked over to the Doctor and the computer. John looked over the timelord's shoulder and stared at the computer screen only to see an error message.

"Oh no," the Doctor breathed, bringing up a picture of what seemed to be a newspaper from late nineteenth century London. "I think I found our altered fixed point." With a push of a few buttons, he printed out an exact replica of the very same newspaper. Wordlessly, the Doctor handed the paper to John. Had the Doctor not printed it out right in front of him, John would have thought that it was an original from the eighteen hundreds. It was folded together professionally and there was even a smudge of ink on the front page. Thanks to the larger font, John could read the heading and first paragraph, which said,

**The Famous Jack the Ripper Unmasked**

**Thanks to the fine and bold work of DI Scholesk, the famous Jack the Ripper murderer has been brought to justice. DI Scholesk was first brought in on the case a little after the two murders of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddows. He brought with him new angles and new leads. Personally investigating these crimes in his off hours, this brave detective caught one of the most notorious and gruesome murderers seen in England yet. George Chapman was perceived by most as a simple barber who had moved the last year from Poland. His neighbors never suspected that the man living next to them was a serial killer, but his charade didn't fool DI Scholesk. Seeing through his ruse and gathering concrete evidence against the man, the detective was able to charge Chapman with five counts of first-degree murder. The detective collected the prize money last Monday in front of Scotland Yard and received a medal of honour for his hard work. When interviewing the detective, he said that on 31 September he was at the Wild Fist Tavern on Mansfield Street when he took interest in the case and mailed the police his first tip.**

As John scanned the rest of the front page, he saw that the newspaper went on praising DI Scholesk on catching and convicting the famous serial murderer, George Chapman, for the next two pages. Looking up at the Doctor, John asked in a confused voice, "What does this have to do with the fixed point. The Ripper case was never that big of a deal."

"No, you see, you are remembering the wrong timeline. That," he said, pointing at the paper, "is our broken fixed point. The Jack the Ripper case was never solved, and never should have been."

"What do you mean?" John said. "Scholesk caught the killer and put him behind bars. Why is it such an important event? It was never a very popular case."

"The case was never solved," the Doctor answered. "It became one of the most famous unsolved mysteries in history. Have you ever seen a picture of the detective that caught the man?"

"No," John said.

"Look at the picture of 'Homer L. Scholesk' receiving his medal on the second page," the Doctor instructed, putting an emphasis on the name. "Recognize him?"

John turned the page over and looked down at a familiar face. Granted the sketch was a bit off, but the high cheekbones and the haughty look was still recognizable. Wait," John said, "but that's Sherlock. Are you telling me that Sherlock solved a serial murder two hundred years in the past? One that was never supposed to be solved!"

"Yes, it seems that your friend used a false name. I think that Homer L. Scholesk is an anagram for Sherlock Holmes," the Doctor said with slight amusement in his voice.

Looking at the two words now, John could almost see in his mind the letters rearranging themselves to spell out a different name. He breathed a laugh. "Of course," he said in disbelief, shaking his head. "Of course, he gets himself sent back in time and solves a bloody case. And not just any case, mind you, but Jack the Ripper!"

"As much as it damaged time," the Doctor said, "Sherlock did the right thing by making this much of a mess." At John's confused expression, he explained, "Now we know when and where Sherlock landed. Just set the coordinates for 31 September 1888 and we know to look for the Wild Fist Tavern."

"What will happen when we get him?" John asked, watching the Doctor run around the console pushing buttons at random. "No one will solve the Jack the Ripper case."

"Hopefully everything will go back to normal," the timelord responded. Throwing one final switch, the TARDIS began shuddering and making its iconic loud noises. Both the Doctor and John were thrown to the floor, not having enough time to grab a railing for support. After a few seconds of being John being knocked around like a rag doll, the TARDIS came to a stop.

Cautiously, John walked to the front entrance. Turning the handle and pushing the door open, he drew in a sharp intake of breath. Just like before, the surroundings changed, but the difference was obvious this time. There were no street lamps lighting the way for cars and cabs. There was barely anyone out on the pavement and the few that were walking around were wearing attire centuries old. There was no mistaking it; they had landed in nineteenth century London.


End file.
